


Tumblr Prompt Fills: Attention Span? What Attention Span?

by jumblebumps



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, Multi, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Relationship, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, sarcastic assholes in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumblebumps/pseuds/jumblebumps
Summary: A collection of short tumblr prompt fills from various fandoms. (I take requests!)





	1. "He's so pretty, I think I'm gonna faint": Corvo/Jess (Dishonored)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SeptemberSky suggested this one with one of Jess' friends saying this about Corvo and I ended up spitting this out in two hours despite needing to sleep, whoops.
> 
> No warnings apply, rated G, and pre-relationship with a dose of maybe pining?

Jessamine has long come to terms with the fact that her birthday doesn't really belong to her; not since she was old enough to attend a ball. She used to hate how a personal day of celebration has morphed into an event for nobles to fawn over her and vye for favor between undignified, alcohol fueled displays, but she's gotten past that. And if she's snuck a good bottle of wine from the kitchens into her room for when she can finally be left in peace to read a trashy romance novel? Well, that's no one's business but hers.

The night is young, though, and now that she's greeted all the guests she checks her small pocket watch and estimates that she has at least an hour and a half before the serious drinking begins and the more obnoxious nobles start trying to make fools of themselves. Until then, they are easily kept at bay by the small group of young women she's gathered around her. She… Jessamine wouldn't call them her _friends_ , per say, but they're all noble girls she's grown up with and she doesn't mind their company as much as some others. All of them are unmarried, but that's unlikely to last through to next year. Even now, the eligible young men eye their group with predatory intent that some of the girls choose to believe is genuine infatuation and not lust for their families’ money or status. If she could get away with it, Jessamine would glare at them until they got scared and ran. She's getting quite good at perfecting her “Empress look” as her father calls it.

“Jessa _mine,_ ” Evelyn Blair cooes, latching onto Jessamine's arm and lightly leaning her weight into her. “Dearest, you absolutely _must_ try the strawberry tarts, they're _wonderful!”_

Jessamine smiles blithely and pats her hand. “I will, thank you.”

“Careful not to eat too many, Evelyn,” Lydia Boyle sniffs. “You'll ruin your girlish figure, now.”

Evelyn pouts, hugging Jessamine's arm a little tighter as if doing so will hide her wide hips and ample chest that she's insecure about, but Jessamine knows all the girls are secretly jealous of. She cuts a beautiful hourglass silhouette in her peach-colored gown.

“You needn't worry about that.”

“I'm just concerned for your wellbeing, dear heart.”

Concerned that Lord Devitt's attractive son isn't looking enough at her, more like… Jessamine restricts herself only to a brief frown at Lydia, choosing not to feed into her penchant for drama.

Besides, Mattie Breunig shuts her down well enough. “Oh, hush. Why not go get one yourself, keep your mouth busy with something constructive.” Lydia's face turns red and she opens her mouth to no doubt express her indignation, but Mattie continues, “However, I must admit I'm more fond of the roast pheasant. It has such an interesting flavor.”

“I think it's an orange glaze?” Odette Huntington chimes in. “I had something like it when Father took us to Serkonos for the season.”

“Oh, that's right! How was it?”

“Wonderful! Almost unbearably hot, but it's in fashion to dress much cooler there. I bought some absolutely _scandalous_ dresses, I'll have to show you.”

“They're not the kind with the short-short sleeves, are they?” Evelyn asks.

Odette does a poor job of hiding her self-satisfied smirk. “Indeed. _And_ low necklines. I wanted to wear one tonight, but Mother said she wouldn't let me out of the house if I tried.”

“You might have been able to hide it under a shawl?” Lydia suggests.

“I'm afraid not,” Odette shakes her head, “she'd recognize it too easily; the cut of the skirt is much more flowing than anything you can buy in Dunwall.”

“Boo.” Mattie links her arms into one of Odette's and Jessamine's free arm. “I think it would look wonderful on you. Our parents need to realize we aren't living in the 1700’s anymore. A lady should be able to show a little _skin.”_

“Why, thank you. And the dresses are _so_ comfortable, too, you could almost sleep in them.”

“Speaking of Serkonan fashions…” Lydia nods pointedly at one of the food tables where Corvo is standing patiently in line. Even Jessamine must privately admit to herself that he looks rather dashing in his dark suit with his long brown hair braided in layers as it goes.

“Oh stars…” Evelyn sighs.

“He's so pretty, I think I'm going to faint,” says Mattie.

“The dark colors do wonderful things against his skin,” Odette agrees. “And his hair…”

 _“I_ don't even know how to braid my hair like that.”

“Evelyn, you know you could ask a maid to help?”

“That isn't the _point.”_

“Stars, Lydia, come on.”

“I don't know how you do it, Jessamine.”

Mattie's comment catches her off guard. “Do what?”

“Handle being around him all the time, of course!”

“Void, what I wouldn't give to have someone like that as my personal bodyguard…” Odette's expression goes a little dreamy.

Jessamine makes a face. “It's just Corvo.” He's been her Protector since she was twelve, she's practically grown up with him. She… She doesn't see him like _that._ She can't, anyway.

 _“‘Just_ Corvo?’” Lydia echoes.

Mattie gives Jessamine an indignant look. “What in the Void do you mean ‘it's just Corvo?!’”

“Anyone with eyes can see he's gorgeous!” says Evelyn.

“Honestly!”

Corvo picks that moment to look up and notice the five of them staring at him. He looks mildly uncomfortable for half a second before he composes himself and instead raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side to silently ask Jessamine if she's all right. When she manages a smile and nods, he relaxes and disappears back into the crowd with his small plate. But even though she doesn't see him, Jessamine knows he's watching her, looking for any signs of danger or distress while trying to give her some degree of privacy with her friends. He's always doing considerate things like that, trying to make his constant presence as noninvasive as possible.

And maybe… Maybe he is attractive. Maybe Jessamine does want to like him more than she's allowed to admit. She's eighteen now. It wouldn't...it wouldn't be too weird, would it? She shakes her head as if to clear it. No, stop that. It's highly inappropriate and no doubt unwanted; Corvo probably just sees her as his ward, maybe a friend or little sister at best. Romance isn't on the table. Not for them. Not for her ever, honestly. She'll have to get married sooner or later. Being Empress doesn't make it any less necessary for her to produce an heir, and her inevitable husband will probably be someone she must choose for political reasons. She's sure they'll be friends (she won't marry someone she can't stand, no matter how advantageous the match, she just can't), but she's well beyond hoping for love.

“I've known him since I was twelve,” Jessamine says dismissively, turning to steer the group closer to the dance floor where maybe they'll get distracted, “what do you expect?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an idea for something you want to see? [I take requests!](https://donotfeedthewildauthor.tumblr.com/)


	2. "Am I your lockscreen?" "You weren't supposed to see that!" Gladio/Ignis (FFXV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one assigned this one, I just loved the prompt and thought it fit Gladio and Ignis really well.
> 
> No warnings apply, pre-relationship, and rated T for Gladio's sweary internal monologue

It was all Noct’s fault. If he hadn’t ruined Ignis’ couch (just who the  _ fuck _ thought practicing magic indoors was a good idea, anyway? “small scale” and “controlled” Gladio’s ass…), it wouldn’t have needed to be replaced. If it hadn’t needed to be replaced, Gladio wouldn’t have volunteered to help move in the new one (he should have just gone with Iggy’s suggestion and let the delivery guys handle it but nooo, he just  _ had _ to use the opportunity to show off). If Gladio hadn’t volunteered to move in the new one, he wouldn’t have had his hands full of couch when his phone fell out of his pocket.

“Gladio, your phone,” Ignis said after it clattered to the ground.

Gladio glanced down as best he could. Stopping to pick it up was out of the question. Just avoiding stepping on it while he hefted the couch through the doorway was hard enough. At least the screen hadn’t shattered, but there was no way it’d hold under his weight. He sighed. “Yeah, I know. Could you grab it so I don’t accidentally step on it?”

“Of course. Hold still a moment.” Ignis knelt and quickly snatched it up from beside Gladio’s foot, saying, “You’re fine,” once his fingers were no longer at risk of being crushed.

“Thanks,” Gladio grunted, adjusting his grip. He shuffled the couch the rest of the way into the apartment. “Where d’you want it?”

“Where the old one was, if you don’t mind,” Ignis said absentmindedly, like he was distracted by something.

In hindsight, that should have been Gladio’s first clue that something was wrong, but at the time he was focusing on not dropping the couch. He shuffled over to the wall where the old couch used to be (Six dammit, Noct) and considered how best to maneuver without adding a hole in the wall to Iggy's endless List of Things to Deal With.

“Hey, Gladio?”

“Yeah?”

“Am I your lockscreen?”

_ Shit. _

It wasn't like it was a secret that the picture existed; Prompto had taken it during a casual evening where the four of them were just hanging out together. The kid managed to get a candid photo of Iggy leaning back on the couch with his posture relaxed. For once, he was without his suit jacket, the first couple buttons on his shirt were undone, and he was  _ smiling, _ caught in the middle of laughing at something. When Prompto showed it to him, Iggy even agreed it was a good photo.

He just didn't know Gladio had it.

“You weren't supposed to see that!” Shit, that was the wrong response. Gladio practically dropped the couch into place and tried to snatch his phone back, but Ignis dodged him. “It...it's a nice picture,” Gladio said, tone stilted and unsure, “and you're my friend. Lots of people have their friends as their lockscreen.” He knew it was a weak-ass lie even as he said it, but Gladio hoped Ignis would accept it as an answer.

No such luck. Ignis gave him a Look. “Gladio,” he said, far more gently than Gladio was expecting.

“Don't.” Gods, the last thing Gladio wanted was pity; he didn't think he could handle it. “I...I'll change it, just forget about it.” He held his hand out for the phone, not meeting Iggy's eyes, but he didn't hand it back.

“...I hardly think that's necessary, don't you?” Gladio looked up, but was only more confused by Ignis’ strange, soft expression. It wasn’t pity, but Gladio’s mind went blank before he could place it. “It is a flattering picture,” Ignis continued, finally handing the phone back.

Gladio nodded automatically as he slipped it back into his pocket. “Yeah… Well, I’d probably better get going…” Take the chance to blow off some steam against a punching bag (maybe imagine his own face on it, stupid--)

“Absolutely not,” Ignis said in the sharp tone he used to get Noct to do things. While Gladio blinked dumbly, he continued, “You did just single-handedly move-in my new couch. Let me at least make you dinner.”

That...couldn’t be right. “...What?”

“I said, let me make dinner for you and I. As thanks.”

“No, I’m sure you’re busy, and I wouldn’t wanna impose--”

“You’re not,” Iggy said decisively, “and anything that needs to be done can wait until tomorrow.”

“O...kay…” Gladio had the novel feeling that he was taking up too much space, like he needed to be smaller. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Ignis disappeared into the kitchen and Gladio trailed behind. “I do like spending time with you, you know,” he continued, his back to the doorway. “We don’t have nearly enough opportunities to hang out as just the two of us.” He paused as he reached up into a cupboard. “Don’t you agree?”

Oh.

_ Oh! _

It was a rare thing for Gladio to get embarrassed, but that did it. “Y-yeah,” he said, reaching up to fidget his fingers through the back of his hair a couple times. “That...would be nice.”

Maybe he should thank Noct for ruining Iggy’s couch?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an idea for something you want to see? [I take requests!](https://donotfeedthewildauthor.tumblr.com/)


	3. (E!) "I didn't think you could get any less romantic:" Corvo/Daud (Dishonored)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SeptemberSky submitted a prompt and it turned into snark and poetry (Daud is a giant nerd and I refuse to believe otherwise) with a side of porn
> 
> The poems are not mine, the first one is written by [George Santayana](http://www.poetryexplorer.net/poem.php?id=10014849) and the second is by [Winifred M. Letts](https://poets.org/poem/dream-2)
> 
> (I'm not used to writing nsfw, please be nice >_<; )

"Corvo."

"Hm?"

He's aware of Daud moving behind him, and only months of effort keep him from tensing. Progress has been slow, but he's at least tamped down the impulse to reach for a weapon every time something surprises him. He still doesn't like how he gets tense and twitchy, though.

Daud's movements are slow as he leans over the back of Corvo's chair to brace his palms on the arms. "It's late."

Yes, thank you, he had  _ no _ idea. None whatsoever. It isn't like he's been going over paperwork and plans and maps and itineraries all fucking day ahead of Emily's public appearance. (He knows he'll be glued to her side through the whole afternoon and that Whalers will be interspersed in the crowd, on top of the Royal Guard forming a wall around her. Between the lot of them, there shouldn't be any risk. But he's still worried.) Maybe he should go back to his office. No one will bother him there.

That may not be the right word, because Daud isn't exactly  _ bothering  _ him. When Corvo doesn't verbally respond, he sighs and rests his chin on the back of the chair. "Those will still read the same in the morning. You need sleep."

"I'm fine."

He doesn't have to look up to know Daud's rolling his eyes. One ungloved hand slides forward along the arm of the chair like he's considering taking Corvo's pen from him, only to stop when he thinks better of trying. Instead, he sighs hard enough for Corvo to feel his breath stir his hair.

"You don't have to stay up for me," Corvo says, flipping to a new page in his stack of papers. "I'll go to my office if the light bothers you." He  _ knows _ that isn't Daud's problem, but it's easier to pretend that it is. Neither of them took quickly to their relationship when it was new; it was a day by day process with some coming easier than others. In many ways, it still is. Trust and vulnerability are hard. Throwing himself into familiar, highly detail-oriented work is easy.

Acknowledging that Daud is concerned for him, likewise, is hard.

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own room," Daud murmurs. He inches closer so that his nose touches the back of Corvo's head, soft and intimate. He can feel his lips moving against his hair when he speaks again: "But I can leave if you want."

It's frustrating because Corvo  _ doesn't  _ want that; he wants more of the softness Daud seems currently inclined towards, but the actual process of admitting that…

He starts shaking his head before he's fully aware he's doing it. "No, you’re fine.”

“Good.” Daud brings his arms up to wrap around Corvo’s shoulders, a bit awkward with the chair between them, but he doesn’t seem to mind for the moment. “I am, however, going to insist that you sleep.”

“Let me finish this first.”

“You’ve gone over everything three times.”

“Better make it an even four, then.”

Corvo expects him to let go and sit back down after that, but he remains stubbornly at the back of his chair, watching over Corvo's head as he works. It's surprisingly easy to relax like this with Daud's solid arms holding him loosely and the warm smell of tobacco that lingers on his clothing from snuck cigarettes. (Corvo really should support Fisher in getting him to quit, he thinks distantly.) At one point, Daud's glasses catch on Corvo's hair and he pulls away to remove them, muttering for the thousandth time about how they're a "ridiculous idea" (which is neither here nor there because they  _ work, _ with the added benefit of Corvo privately finding them distinguished). When he returns, it's to nose into Corvo's neck and place a soft kiss just above his collar. It sends (what he hopes is) a barely perceptible shiver down his spine.

"Can I help you?"

"Mm." Daud kisses his neck again, more purposefully this time. "You could get out of this chair and make this easier on me," he rumbles and  _ shit, _ there goes Corvo's concentration right out the window.

"Angle bad for your back?" Corvo tries to smirk, but his comment earns him a scrape of teeth and he has to bite his lip to keep from visibly reacting.

"Shut up." There's no venom in the rebuke and Daud slides his hands up to knead Corvo's shoulders as he continues to kiss and nip at his neck. His pen stutters and drops to the desk, all pretense of work abandoned, and Daud huffs a sound of satisfaction into Corvo's skin. "Get up," he says, starting to bodily tug Corvo up from his desk chair. "Bed. Now."

Corvo allows himself to be manhandled. (More or less.) But  _ of course _ he can't just shut up like a rational person, oh no. "Is this your clever way of getting me to go to sleep?" he quips, and the responding  _ look _ Daud gives him really should be enough to make him keep his comments to himself.

He's not sure it's a good thing that it isn't.

"What if it is?" Daud challenges. He stops shoving Corvo to work on the buttons of his shirt and catches him in a proper kiss, but only manages three of the buttons before Corvo is pulling away to retort.

"Then I'd say your strategy could use some work." He's sure that the effect of his teasing grin is lessened by the slow flush he feels spreading across his face and how breathless the kiss has left him, though Daud's expression tells him nothing.

Instead, Daud moves in close and slots his thigh against him, smirking when the contact makes Corvo shiver. "Really?" he says, voice dropped low. "You don't seem to be minding that strategy too much." He leans in for another kiss, one Corvo doesn't pull away from, as he backs the pair of them the rest of the way to the bed.

They press together as Corvo slowly snakes his hands up to cup the back of Daud's head and neck because Daud likes slow, likes when he telegraphs his movements plainly because Corvo isn't the only one who gets jumpy. They're a mess, Corvo thinks, a constant navigation of hang-ups and barriers, but they work.

A fraction of increased pressure from Daud's leg makes Corvo gasp involuntarily, which Daud evidently takes as an invitation to slip his tongue in to rub at Corvo's as his hands return to undoing shirt buttons. It's distantly embarrassing for Corvo to hear how his breathing picks up when Daud finally manages the last button and slides his hands up and across his chest, calluses catching a little on the hairs covering it. Corvo slides his own hands further up Daud's head and into his hair as if to hold him in place as he starts slipping from the kiss to return his attention to his neck. As much as Corvo prefers to keep quiet, a soft sound escapes him, but now he's free to continue their earlier banter.

"And here," a pause to gulp in air, "I thought, you couldn't get any less romantic."

He almost immediately regrets his choice of words because Daud's head shoots up to meet his eyes. "What does that mean?" he asks, the kind of defensive that will either result in Corvo goading him into teasing him or stopping entirely.

So Corvo does what he does best: pushes his luck.

"Even you have to admit romantic gestures aren't the most natural thing for you." His tone is clearly goading and not serious, but Daud can be touchy (they can  _ both _ be touchy), so it won't surprise him if Daud completely disengages and goes back to his room. But he's hoping.

When Daud huffs a quiet laugh and smirks, Corvo knows he's taken the bait. "Never pegged you as someone who went for grand gestures, Attano," he says, no less than half mocking.

"It doesn't—" He's cut off by Daud shoving him onto the bed where he lands with a quiet "oof" and then Daud's on him again with a kiss. When he tries to pull back to continue, he only gets as far as, "It—" before Daud catches his mouth again. (For someone who's often so wary, he really can be quite insistent when he wants to.)

Between their two opposing agendas, it's a solid minute before Corvo is able to gasp out, "Doesn't have to be  _ grand _ anything. Just—" (if they didn't make his head practically float off and away, Corvo might get irritated about the constant interrupting kisses) "—maybe have a nice, quiet dinner with wine and candles, maybe a moonlit stroll, or poetry, or—"

This time it's Daud who pulls back to make sharp (intense) eye contact, but Corvo still falls suddenly silent. Daud cups his jaw and chin with one hand, looking entirely too put-together for how undone Corvo already feels under him. "You like poetry?" he rumbles.

Void, stars, Out—nope, they not about to risk catching  _ his _ attention right now—whatever else he can swear to, that voice does  _ things _ to Corvo. Pairing it with Daud's sudden shift in expression, like Corvo is something precious, makes it almost too much.

"I…" He's blushing like a schoolboy and there's nothing at all he'll be able to do about it until Daud breaks eye contact. "It was just an example…"

Daud just kisses him lightly and begins to murmur,  _ "How shall I give thee what was never mine?" _ His free hand skates down across Corvo's chest to rest with his thumb brushing a scar that cuts diagonally across three ribs.  _ "I have no voice, no hope beneath the sky; All sound and silence are a melody, Played on my heartstrings by some touch of thine." _

His voice is barely raised above a whisper, grating out in a smoky rasp that's almost at odds with his words, and Corvo's train of thought (he was kidding, the poetry wasn't a serious suggestion, is Daud actually—? how is he just _ saying _ all this like it's nothing, oh Void did he just  _ happen _ to have an entire  _ sonnet  _ memorized?) stutters to a halt at the intimate eye contact. He can only imagine what his expression looks like, but it prompts Daud to lean in again for another soft kiss. When he pulls back, with their lips still barely touching, he continues,

_ "Thine is the glory of my brave design, The ardour, the compulsion, and the cry; Mine but the hoarseness and the unbidden sigh,"  _ he moves the hand on Corvo's side down,  _ down  _ to brush over the crest of his hip and knead at the tense muscles of his thigh,  _ "Muffling the silver music of the line." _

Daud shifts his weight to move them up the bed, and Corvo is nearly able to pull him back for a kiss, but Daud won't let him cut him off.  _ "If aught of rapture from the feeble string," _ he presses their bodies together; they're both hard, Corvo realizes distantly,  _ "Escape and swell and tremble as I sing." _

He keeps his fingers still in Daud's hair, even while Daud moves to the buttons on his pants with enough pressure to squeeze out a whimper Corvo has embarrassingly little control over. Just because Daud's the one who initiated this doesn't mean he wants to be touched, and it's impossible to ask while he's still reciting.

_ "Think what the might of loveliness must be, That from the dust could raise a living thing." _ Corvo gasps as Daud stops, catches him in a deep, slow kiss. He thinks that must be the end of the poem; the kiss breaks so Daud can kiss down his jaw and along his neck with little nips that make him arch, longing for more contact after such a long buildup.

_"And,"_ Daud peppers a kiss against his pulse (that must not have been the end after all), _"from the cold heart of a doubter wring,_ _This book of verses, writ in love of thee."_

_ "Daud—!" _

"Hmm?"

"What… what the  _ shit?" _

"You said poetry."

"I wasn't—! Why do you  _ know _ that?!"

Daud huffs a laugh against his neck as he surprises Corvo with a solid  _ stroke _ through his underwear (when? did he? get the buttons???). "Is that  _ really  _ the question you want to be asking right now?"

Fucking… No, it really isn't. He tightens his grip on Daud's hair, like he's grounding himself. "Is it all right if…?"

Daud presses forward for a soft, chaste kiss. "You can touch me." It helps with what remains of Corvo's stubborn self-consciousness that he's starting to match his breathless tone.

"Any limits?"

He shakes his head, one thumb tracing the muscles of Corvo's stomach and abdomen as he strokes him again. "You're fine."

Despite the assurances, Corvo still moves slowly, taking his hands from Daud's hair and the back of his head to trail along his jawbone. With his thumb, he traces along the scar, down over his chin to his neck to the open shirt collar to slowly start on the third button. Daud's throat bobs with a swallow at the contact, but he doesn't do anything to stop it, lets Corvo make his way through the buttons of his shirt until he's tugging at the tails to finish untucking it.

They're such a pair; both made of muscle and sinew held together by scars and wariness. Birds of a feather, though Corvo nearly snickers at what he could replace "flock" with.

“What?”

Corvo shakes his head and kisses him again. “Nothing, I’ll tell you later.”

Daud rolls his eyes, but pushes Corvo’s shirt off his shoulders and allows him to do the same. Pants are next, then underwear and—

“Fu-uck!”

“Weren’t you the one who says we need to keep quiet?”

“Shut up.”

“I could always think of another poem—”

“Don’t. You.  _ Dare.” _

Daud’s chuckle is cut short when Corvo nips on his collarbone, trying to leave a mark where it won’t be seen in the morning (thank the stars the man only owns high collared shirts). While he’s busy, Daud adjusts to hold out an arm to Pull open the nightstand drawer and the small bottle of oil into his hand. Corvo doesn’t even notice he’s done it until he feels slicked calluses rub his hole.

_ “Daud!” _

He stops and pulls back. “No?”

“Not ‘no,’ just  _ warn  _ me, you asshole.”

Despite the reproach, Daud cracks a smile as he leans down to kiss Corvo with a, “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Maybe I like watching you?” Corvo doesn’t get a chance to respond because Daud’s other hand returns to his dick, only now it too is covered in oil and  _ Void _ that’s good. Daud runs his fingers lightly over his tensed muscles again as he murmurs,  _ “I dreamt—before death made such dreaming vain—, That sometime, on a day of wind and rain, I would come home to you at fall of night, And see your window flushed with firelight.” _

(Another one, he knows  _ another one! _ Part of Corvo wants to literally kick Daud out of his bed for reasons he’s not entirely interested in examining, but that’s… It’s clearly not happening.)

A gasp escapes Corvo as Daud manages to slip a finger inside him and begins to slowly move it in and out, helped by the oil and the poetry he’s still murmuring:

_ “There in the chill dark lonesomeness I’d wait, A moment, standing at the garden gate, Scarce trusting that my happiness was true—, The kind warm lights of home and love and you.” _

Corvo reaches for him and pulls him into a kiss they both practically melt into. Daud works his finger, slowly building up to where he can slip in a second one. When Corvo has to break the kiss for air, he continues,  _ “Then, lest they’d vanish to be mine no more, I’d speed my steps along the garden path.” _

He brushes a spot that makes Corvo bite his lip to keep from groaning, though he does let himself arch into Daud’s hold and touches. If he doesn’t get on with it, he swears—

Daud gently hushes him, kissing his jaw as if to say, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” and pulls back a little on the contact, letting Corvo adjust.

_ “Cross my own threshold, close the windblown door, And find you in the firelight of the hearth.” _

Corvo nudges him, lets him know he can continue, and Daud manages a third finger, wanting to be sure he doesn’t hurt him. As he moves his hand, he leans close to Corvo’s ear, dodges the attempt to kiss him in favor of finishing the poem:

_ “O happiness! to kneel beside you there, And feel your fingers resting on my hair.” _

_ “Daud,” _ Corvo gasps. “I…  _ Please…” _

He doesn’t need to ask again. Daud removes his fingers, slicks himself with oil, and finds his place between Corvo’s legs. They moan together, kissing when they’re fully joined and Corvo wraps his arms around Daud’s shoulders as he moves…

When they’ve finished, Daud grabs something (it’s cloth is all Corvo can say about it, he’ll care more later) to clean the both of them off before he flumps down beside Corvo. As he drags the blankets up over them, Corvo turns to nuzzle up to him, boneless and content.

“Tired now?” Daud murmurs with his lips to his forehead.

“Mmhmm.” Corvo sighs. “I do need to finish that paperwork though.”

“...Go the fuck to sleep, Corvo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an idea for something you want to see? [I take requests!](https://donotfeedthewildauthor.tumblr.com/)


End file.
